


Strange Situations

by Darksilvercat



Series: Darksilvercat's Ficlets [2]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Fluff, Humour, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-16
Updated: 2012-08-16
Packaged: 2017-11-12 14:24:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/492163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darksilvercat/pseuds/Darksilvercat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for qthelight’s schmoop meme, for the prompt: Misha starts borrowing Jensen's stuff to fuck with the fans. It starts with his ring and then progresses to his clothes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strange Situations

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted as a comment!fic on LiveJournal.

The annoying thing is, Jensen had started it. A few weeks after a convention in Australia, when Misha crept into the audience and asked Jensen and Jared if it was hard playing brothers when they were lovers in real life, Jensen and Misha had sat down with a few beers and got to chatting about the weird fans who actually believed in that kind of stuff. The question of so-called clothing shout-outs had come up, and Jensen had joked that some fans were probably expecting to see rings any day now.

To which Misha had replied that even just trading rings would probably send the fans into a frenzied whirlwind of conspiracy theories.

In Jensen’s defence, he’d worked his way through quite a few beers by this point.

It all ended with Misha taking Jensen’s ring, because - according to him - it would screw with the fans even more if they thought he was somehow getting involved. The words ‘traumatic love triangle’ may have come up. 

Two weeks later, after a convention where Jensen's ring had made it's first public appearance on Misha's hand, Misha, Jensen and Jared had spent an entire evening on the computer reading the fan gossip site. Jensen had conceded that the results of the swap were every bit as entertaining as Misha had predicted.

So of course when Misha had given Jensen one of his favourite belt buckles - and Jensen had never asked about the buckle thing, unwilling to cop to the curiosity and even less willing to endure the inevitable ‘don’t look at my crotch’ teasing - it had seemed only fair and natural that Jensen wear it to their next con.

*****

Twelve months and half a dozen conventions later, Jensen is turning his bedroom inside out in search of one of his favourite shirts, when he comes across one that isn’t even his. It’s a nice shirt - white with navy pinstripes - and so similar to the one he’s lost that he’s halfway into sniffing it to see if it’s dirty before he realises it’s not actually his. 

It takes another moment for him to figure out where he’s seen it before, until he realises that Misha had been wearing it at their last convention.

Misha fucking Collins had traded their fucking shirts, and Jensen hadn’t even noticed because apparently not only are they trading clothes, they’ve even started to dress alike. It’s like being in a disgustingly sappy relationship without any of the perks. 

The perks being lots of sex, of course.

Not that Jensen has ever thought about sex and Misha, or sex with Misha, for that matter. Because they’re not in a disgustingly sappy relationship, or any kind of relationship at all, and there is no sex, which means there shouldn’t be stupid things like clothes-sharing or dressing alike happening.

With this thought in mind, Jensen chucks Misha’s shirt in the laundry basket - it still smells of Misha, so it must be in need of washing - tugs on the first t-shirt he can lay his hands on, grabs his keys, and heads out.

Half an hour later, he’s all but beating Misha’s front door down, having worked himself up into a real mood on the way over. A mood that is not remotely helped by the fact that when Misha answers the door he is _wearing Jensen’s fucking shirt_.

“Jensen.” Misha steps aside to let Jensen in. “Is there any point at all in having me on your speed-dial?”

Jensen is momentarily thrown. “What?”

Misha arches his brows and waves a hand between them. “Not that I don’t appreciate spontaneous visits, but a little warning would have been nice. I might’ve been doing laundry. Or naked. Or doing laundry naked.”

The interesting thing about Misha is all of those options are equally possible.

Jensen ignores that train of thought, choosing instead to focus on the way his shirt hangs off Misha’s skinny frame in a way that should be ridiculous but somehow manages to be endearingly sexy. And he did not just think that.

“Game’s over, Collins,” he says. “I want my stuff back.”

“Come again?”

“I’m tired of looking for my things and realising you have them. It was fun messing with the fans, but I want to wear my own damn clothes for a change.”

Misha raises his eyebrows, obviously wondering what brought on the sudden change of heart, but he helps Jensen gather up the four ties, two shirts and one jacket that have found their way into Misha’s house. There’s also a pair of argyle socks, and one odd Spongebob Squarepants sock, that Jensen doesn’t really want back, but takes on principle.

“And the shirt,” he says once the little pile of clothes has collected on Misha’s coffee table.

“What shirt?”

“This shirt,” Jensen huffs, plucking at the sleeve of the shirt Misha is currently wearing.

“I’m wearing this one,” Misha protests.

“I don’t care, it’s one of my favourites. Give.”

Misha’s eyes narrow slightly and he spreads his arms.

“Come and get it then.”

Jensen makes a grab for the shirt, and Misha steps back. He tries again, and Misha bats his hand away. He’s faster on the third try, seizing the collar and tugging Misha close so he can’t escape. Misha starts to struggle.

Oh, it’s _on_. 

It’s the weirdest fight ever, Jensen battling to unbutton the shirt without tearing anything, and Misha fighting to protect both the shirt and what remains of his dignity. It takes five fucking minutes of full-on wrestling just to get the damn thing half unbuttoned, and when Misha twists out of Jensen’s grip the shirt ends up slipping off his right shoulder. Misha steps out of reach with a breathless laugh. 

“Damn, Jensen, if you wanted to get me naked, you only had to say,” he says with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows.

Jensen, still caught up in the rush of their impromptu wrestling match, and slightly distracted by the freckle just above Misha’s right nipple, shoves Misha back against the wall and pins him there with one hand while navigating the remaining buttons of the shirt with the other.

“So get naked,” he growls. 

Misha, to his credit, doesn’t even hesitate.


End file.
